Pain And Confusion
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: Icy weather, pain, confusion. A man walks alone feeling all three
1. Chapter 1

**Pain And Confusion.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . Characters belong to Kripkie, plotline all mine.**

**A.N. . . . . . . Right, some of you may have read this under another name as I haven't been able to get my site to do anything for me recently. If you did, I'm sorry for the confusion, and I thank you for reading again. Will catch you later, Peanut x**

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Taking another step forward, he drew in a ragged deep breath, feeling the icy tendrils as they scorched their way down past his arid throat and into his starved lungs. He regretted the action immediately as the resulting expansion set off a chain of hurt that left him gasping to draw in air again as a coughing fit consumed him. He blinked away tears that blurred his already damaged vision as he fought vainly to gain back control, desperate now to stop the agony that ripped through his body. He grasped lamely onto a tree for support as his weakened body, eager to take him back into the darkness and the comfort it found there, battled against his mind which was determined to keep him awake, feeling as though this was the only way to save him.

He cried out in anguish, as a particularly deep cough took hold and he felt piercing hot stabs of pain radiate from deep within him as bones moved and ground against organs, alarm bells ringing inside his head as crimson saliva spattered from his mouth to stain the whiteness that covered the ground, causing him to panic all the more and setting off a chain that looped constantly. He struggled to get breath, he coughed, he felt pain; and so it continued like a record on a turntable, going round and round and round. He knew he had to gain control, that he had to move, but he just couldn't find the energy, the will to do so.

He berated himself, cussed himself out in an effort to goad himself to just take that one step further, knowing that if he could he would stubbornly keep going forward, and forward he knew was where he needed to be. Something was pulling him that way, a niggling feeling that flowed gently beneath the surface, but just wouldn't break through and let him know exactly what was so important, so critical that he needed to push through the pain to get to it, but push he did, somehow finding that second burst of strength to grasp a back hold of control, to ride through the pain that threatened to tear him apart, to take that next step.

Still using, with a grip that was gradually getting weaker and weaker, the trees for leverage he began the slow trek forward, his other hand rubbing away the blood, sweat and tears that congregated in his eyes, before gingerly prodding at the gash that rent it's way from the edge of his eyebrow to deep within his hairline; a goose egg growing in size beneath the jagged cut. He stopped his probing as even the faintest of touches set off crescendos of discomfort within his battered brain, the pain it caused fighting to be the winner against all his other aches.

As he walked he tried to assess his broken body, tried to guess what part was hurt the worst, anything to take his mind off the cruel agony walking was becoming, but it was all in vain. From his toenails to the tips of his hair, every single inch of his body seemed to scream out in protest at every movement he made. He knew that he had broken bones, some toes, a few ribs, possibly a couple of fingers; he thought he could add his ankle to that list, but as he carried on moving forward and although agonizing, it kept working, keeping his weight, he removed it from the list realizing that he had sprained or twisted the limb.

He had another gash that was evident from the tear in his jeans, and another that graced his side, both still oozing blood that had begun to crystallize on his clothes due to the gradually increasingly freezing temperature, that thought registering yet another ailment to add to his burgeoning list; he had a fever, something that he had failed to notice as the bitingly frigid air chilled him to his very core. The resulting shivers adding to the torture walking was putting his body through, and hiding the fact that he was burning up. He hoped that the searing heat that ravaged through him was just from the fact that his body craved rest, yet he knew he was being naïve, that something was infected, and that thought sent even more waves of apprehension rushing through him.

As he tripped and sent another cycle of pain crashing around his frame, causing bile to rush up into his throat and his equilibrium to falter, he realized yet one more ailment, concussion. He didn't know how he knew but he knew it wasn't the first he had ever had, knew that this was going to be something he would feel for days, maybe weeks to come. He stopped walking as he spat the vicious fluid, that had congregated within his mouth out, all injuries, all aches pushed to the back of his mind as something more serious pushed it's way to the forefront.

Where was he?

What the hell had happened here?

And more importantly, who was he?

**To Be Continued. . . . . . **

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Pain And Confusion.**

**Summary. . . . . . Icy weather, pain, confusion. One man walks alone, feeling all three.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . Sam and Dean belong to Kripkie, the plot and mistakes are all mine.**

**A.N. . . . . . Thanks to everyone for reading, hope you enjoy chapter 2.**

Frozen rain began to fall, plastering his already sweat soaked hair to his pulsating head and piercing his skin like thousands of razor sharp needles, their biting rawness penetrating to his marrow, increasing the chill he was already feeling. A sneeze tore it's way past a raw and inflamed throat, the movement causing intense aggravation and misery to rocket from all other parts of his being, yet more crimson staining the bleak landscape as his coughing took hold of him again, draining him of more of his failing reserves.

As his leaden limbs gave way beneath him and he crashed once again to the frozen unforgiving earth, he looked through glassy eyes seeing nothing but austere tree branches, frosted thickets and a blanket of white, so bright it sent piercing sharp stabs of pain bouncing around his brain, forcing him to slam his eyes tightly closed, small whimpers of pain escaping his mouth as even that small effort seemed to create an agonizing response. He rested his back against the bark of an oak tree, it's rough irregular ridges pressing uncomfortably against his throbbing, bruised and battered back; each ridge feeling like a ton weight prodding his skin, a weight that was trying desperately to worm it's way inside.

No matter his discomfort, he remained seated, the snow melting around him from the irregular heat of his body, soaking it's way through the fibers of his denim jeans to seep into his pores, freezing his insides even further, yet creating no shivers. Deep down he knew he should be worried about that, yet bone weary tired, and numb with pain, he just couldn't force himself to worry too much. He pulled his good leg up so that it bent at the knee and rested his heavy head upon the threadbare cloth, his arms falling lethargically, loosely to the floor, as the blackness that had threatened to take him for so long encroached and claimed him for it's victim. As the raw, frigid chill penetrated further into his flesh, the small puffs of heated air escaping his mouth gradually started to abate until all that remained to show that life still lingered, was the occasional shallow rise and fall of his torso.

He felt comfort in the warmth he created in his mind, his aches and pains vanishing leaving him feeling refreshed and seeking it's heat all the more. He willed his confused brain to allow his body to wallow deeper into the security he felt there, yet something prevented him from succeeding; an excruciating agony that reverberated from his cheek to rattle his pummeled cranium, an agony that refused to let up making him return to a world of torture and anguish. Wearily he tried to force fatigued eyes open, managing mere slits before they fell once more. As the drumming continued, seeming to gain in strength, he attempted to try again this time succeeding were he had previously failed. Foggy lenses strived to focus on the object of his discomfort, his heart palpitating as the blurry outline of a figure flashed before him forcing broken, faltering memories to surface and batter his thoughts, and his body to cower and unconsciously retreat from the threat he perceived.

He flailed with leaden limbs at the arm that tried to stall him, to keep him, all the while forcing his aching body to scoot further away, as images played in his mind, images of creatures and beasts that sent fear pulsating through his veins and clenched his stomach into a tight knot. He keened slightly as his beaten back collided cruelly with the callous bark of yet another colossus obstruction and realization struck that there was nowhere to go, that the thing stalking him was about to become the victor and claim it's spoils. As he waited for the deadly blow to arrive he wondered if this thing had been one to put him in this position in the first place. As the shape crowded his ailing vision yet again, he closed his eyes and mind and awaited his destiny, startling slightly when all that seemed to happen was the annoying agonizing tapping and the timbre of spoken words sounded harshly out.

He ignored the voice as the fear festered deep within him. Willed silently for the beast to finish what it had started, to take away all the pain and confusion, and allow his body to finally rest in peace, but it seemed as though the beast wanted to toy with him, play with his meal, as all it seemed to do was stop it's tapping and instead move to running it's fingers through his sweat soaked hair; something which ignited a minute spark of recognition deep within his mind, yet not enough to allow him to recognize it for what it was, comfort. He attempted to move away again from the touch that caused pain, causing the beast to growl out in what he thought to be displeasure, and himself to stall his actions as the fear twisted all the tighter. Resigning himself to fate, he stopped battling and opened himself up for the taking.

The voice spoke again as all the fight left his body on the breath of one deep sigh, this time words breaking through the clouds that had taken control of his mind, a name he didn't quite pick up and a request, a pleading to allow help to be given. As the name sounded out again, this time with an added touch of familiarity, yet more memories assaulted his brain making him gasp out in pain as they played out, and recollection of who he was came crashing back.

A beast bending over him as life was sucked out of his body; a child crying on his bed as realization that their father was staying away again struck home; a figure laying prone on the ceiling, dripping blood onto his face before being engulfed in flames; strong arms pulling him away from the same fire and the grief that threatened to overwhelm him; the strange feeling of strangulation, the gasping for air, the acceptance of death, the same hands releasing the bonds; vicious, brutal blows raining down on him before a single shot sounded out; saying goodbyes as a demon virus wormed it's way through his veins; the callous back stabbing and the finality of life ending; all these visions and more crashed over him like a breaker hitting rock, choking him, drowning him, engulfing him, until the voice spoke again and the world began to right itself.

"Sammy!"

**To Be continued. . . . . . . **

**A.N. . . . . Well did you guess right? At the end of the first chapter I was still unsure which brother it should be, having a plotline mapped out for both, I hope that you like the road I took in the end? Will catch you soon, Peanut x**

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	3. Chapter 3

**Pain And Confusion.**

**Summary. . . . . . Icy weather, pain, confusion. One man walks alone, feeling all three.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . Sam and Dean belong to Kripkie, the plot and mistakes are all mine.**

**A.N. . . . . . . Would just like to thank Kris for her amazing advice on this chapter. Enjoy the chapter, Peanut x**

"D'n?" Sam asked, gasping in pain as a scream was ripped from his throat, the very act of speaking sending spasms of red hot pain rushing through every nerve of his being, causing the chain reaction of agony and breathlessness to start all over again. He raised a quaking hand to swipe at his eyes, still unsure if the apparition before him was the brother he so desperately wanted to see, the action gaining him nothing but more agony as his clouded vision failed to clear, and the move accentuated the torment, the wretchedness he was already feeling. He tentatively reached forward with the same hand, deciding to take a risk, so sure that if he didn't at least try to find out what was before him, he would continue to grow weaker until there would be no coming back.

He flinched and almost retreated back as his hand struck something solid, yet the texture, the smoothness, the touch of the fabric beneath his fingers stopped him, years of being comforted by that same fabric, allowing his mind to finally accept that Dean was here. He forced his trembling body to move into the warmth generating from his brother, the small effort taking away what little reserves he had left, leaving him panting for breath and wilting into the chest of his sibling, his body screaming in discomfort, but his mind for the first time at ease. He closed his eyes wanting now for the darkness to overtake him, wanting to be allowed to sleep, to rest and wake up when all the pain had been removed, but that irritating tap, tap, tap on his cheek returned, along with Dean's voice speaking words he still had trouble making out, but in a tone that was all too clear, worry, panic, fear.

He tried to think, the process increasing the pounding that was reverberating around his skull, to identify why Dean would be so worried, so panicked, but his thoughts were jumbled, muddled at best. It couldn't be because he was injured, the images he had seen earlier had shown him in worse situations, so what was wrong. One thought kept creeping to the brink, only to jump back as he tried to grasp it. He tried all the more to bring the thought to the surface, his face scrunched up in pain and concentration as his mind fought to keep a hold of the secret he was desperately trying to reveal, it was no use though as no matter how hard he tried the memory just remained too far out of reach; only snippets breaking through. Why was he here? How was he hurt? That was it! Dean was worried not because he was hurt, but because the thing that caused the hurt was still at large, that was why his brother was trying so hard to stop his descent into oblivion.

With this new knowledge came a new fear inside himself, the emotion brewing until it consumed him, over riding all feelings of discomfort he had been battling as a new thought struck like an arrow deep within his heart; Dean wasn't safe, Dean could get hurt, he had to get Dean out of here. He began to push against the firm muscle that held his weakened body upright, in an effort to raise himself of the ground, needing to be ready, to be in a stronger position for when the attack eventually came, but his deadened limbs refused to cooperate, the muscles turned to mush like the snow he had been sitting upon. The fear for Dean, and the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to protect him began to grow again, causing his agitation to increase, and him to strive all the more to regain his footing; confusion and distress troubling him as those same strong arms that had seemed such a comfort moments ago began to push him back down to the ground.

Around a throat that was hoarse and tender, he tried to get out words of warning, but all he achieved were muffled, jumbled noises. Bracing himself for the agony he was about to put upon himself, he attempted to clear his throat of the blood and mucus that was collecting there, allowing the claret to once again stain the pristine white that surrounded him once he had succeeded. Fighting against the pain that wanted to control him yet again, he tried once more to convey his worries to his sibling. "D'n. Beast." Mystified when all he got in response was more comfort and murmurings. He felt more than saw a bottle placed on his lips, and he drank greedily from it's confines, relishing the cool water as it eased his ravaged throat, and seemed to replenish his aching body, giving his thoughts and actions more cohesion. With a bit more strength, he attempted to warn Dean again. "Dean, need to go, beast will be back."

He nearly cried out in relief as the words spoken back to him registered in his battered mind. "What ya talking about, Sammy?"

"The beast, hurt me."

"Sammy, we crashed Bobby's junker. We crashed because of a deer. A freakin' deer!"

"N. . .no beast?"

"No beast, baby brother. We do need to get you out of here though, do you think you can make it? Or should we wait for Bobby, he's on his way?"

"M'kay, make it." He held out a shaking arm, requesting a boost up, his body protesting the change in altitude causing his stomach to turn, and his mind to wonder if he should relent and wait for the extra help; but he was up now and he didn't relish the idea of sitting back down in the cold. He snuggled into the blanket that was suddenly placed around his shoulders, and prepared himself for the torture he was about to inflict upon himself, one thought refusing to allow his mind to rest though. Turning to where he thought Dean was he asked. "Deer 'kay?"

**To be continued. . . . . **

**A.N. . . . . As some of you know I was going to have this as my last chapter, but I've decided to add one more. It will be Dean's POV from the crash, waking up, tracking Sam and the fix up at Bobby's. Thanks as always for reading, I hope that the chapter was to your liking, catch you soon, Peanut x**

**A.N.2. . . . . . . I will be getting back to The Nutcracker once this baby has been competed, sorry to anyone who's waiting on that one.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Pain And Confusion.**

**Summary. . . . . . Icy weather, pain, confusion. One man walks alone, feeling all three.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . Sam and Dean belong to Kripkie, the plot and mistakes are all mine.**

**A.N. . . . . . Well here it is the final installment, I hope that you have enjoyed the ride, and that you enjoy this last chapter, which for me is exceptionally long. Catch you later, Peanut x**

Dean squinted hard in an attempt to see through the blizzard like conditions that plastered the windshield of Bobby's old junker with a coating the old wipers were struggling to remove. Not for the first time that night he wished he had taken Sam's advice and stayed in the two bit town they had passed through not two hours ago, the motel looked dodgy but at least they would have been safe, Bobby's salvage yard was calling though, or should he say the call of the Impala was beckoning. His missed his baby, missed the comfort, warmth and love the old car gave him every time he sat in the worn leather of the bench seat, every time he smelt the smell that only his car had. He had stubbornly protested taking this hunt, loathe to travel in anything that wasn't the Impala, especially after the soccer mom van, and especially with an ill Sam, his brother coming down with a cold weeks before that had stubbornly refused to let go, but Sam's insistent whining had eventually worn down his nerves, and accept it he had.

He broke out of his reverie as the conditions outside worsened, the blizzard becoming more like a complete white out, as the wind roared down the hillside in a howling cacophony of noise, austere bare branches scraping together, fragile limbs breaking and screeching against the scarred side of the car, and forcing the platinum clusters into a frenzied swirling mass of deadliness and deception. He contemplated stopping, pulling over and riding out the worst of the conditions, but he knew they were ill equipped to deal with staying out in the freezing conditions. Plus, as he took a sly glance at Sam, sleeping in the seat beside him, his head resting awkwardly against the door jam, long legs, too big for a car of this size, pulled up uncomfortably almost to his chest, a pained expression evident on his tight waxen features, a slight sheen of sweat evident on his brow, the hunt hadn't gone according to plan. Sam had gotten hurt, the tears in his side and leg demanding attention.

Turning his eyes back to the road, he fought all the more harder to keep the rusted piece of scrap going straight, the urge to get back to Bobby's now shifting from seeing his own vehicle, to getting the medical help his brother required. He blinked as something seemed to dance in front of the headlights, realizing at the last moment that a disaster was about to happen, automatically turning the wheel in an attempt to avoid the collision, but it was to no avail as with a sickening thump that had his stomach lurching, the front fender plowed into the deer, breaking fragile bones on contact and sending the beast careering towards the windshield. Dean let go of the wheel in an attempt to shield his face from the shards that splinted and shot like bullets about the cars interior, his foot instinctively pressing down on the brake. He felt a momentary sense of weightlessness before, with a grind and crunch of metal the compact landed, turning twice before slamming passenger front end against one of the many trees that littered the terrain, sending his head to meet the cool glass of his window; a brief waft of bitter cold air sending shivers pulsating throughout his body, before the darkness encroached and he gladly stepped into it's warmth.

Deep, bone chilling cold, awakened him to a world of aches and pains sometime later, it's icy tendrils creeping their way through any gaps within his clothes to run their tips across his bare skin, goose bumps rising as his body reacted to the intrusion, shivers attacking once again as he fought to minimize the damage the chill created. Leaning back from the bent over position he had landed in, he raised a numb hand to equally numb features, and attempted to remove the obstruction he could feel in his eyes. His mind not yet realizing just what had happened, his brain panicking as his digits came away sticky with congealing blood. What was going on? He licked at dry, parched lips, swallowing down saliva in attempt to clear his throat, before risking a tentative, "Sammy?"

Panic turned to fear as all he heard in return was the wind still whistling through the trees and around the smashed up interior of the car. He groaned as he turned his head, agitation rising at the lack of response from his brother, his eyes squeezing shut as his neck protested the movement and sent spikes of pain lancing through his torso. Breathing hard to bite back the discomfort and nausea that rose, he waited patiently for the feelings to abate before slowly peeling his lids open, thinking he was in some sort of a nightmare when all that was revealed was a thrust open, twisted door, footprints that were gradually filling with fresh snow, and a crystallized trail of blood wavering away into the distance. Instinctual reaction kicked in, a frantic need, urge, to make sure that Sammy was okay had him frenziedly tugging at his seatbelt, his agitation increasing as the fabric refused to budge. He yelled a cry of desperation, and grasped at the belt again his actions escalating as his worries for Sam grew.

He sagged momentarily in relief as the buckled belt finally released him from his incarceration before forcing his own door open and scrambling out into the icy weather, cursing the freezing rain that began to fall, soaking him in seconds. He stood on legs that felt newborn, hoping to quell the sickness that rose again as his balance swirled and dipped, the feeling reminding him of a roller coaster he had once ridden. He clambered around the car as the feeling subsided, new felt determination to find Sam arising. Grabbing one of their packs through the broken back window, he quickly stuffed it with the threadbare throw that was placed across the backseats, hiding the broken springs that poked through the worn vinyl, and a half drunk bottle of water, ramming a knife and gun on top just in case. Following the trail his unease multiplied as the drops increased in their frequency and size, their path zigzagging across the pristine whiteness that blanketed the floor. He fell to his knees twice as the banks of snow hid deadly traps that caught you by surprise, yet still he soldiered on following crimson blotches that spoiled an otherwise picture perfect landscape, shouting out Sam's name as he went, hoping, praying each time that he would garner some sort of response, but all he received in return was an eerie silence as the wind died down the further he ventured into the forest.

As he came to a bend in the trail and entered a small flat enclosure, Dean felt his heart stop. The foot prints were gone, the bloody trail was gone. He cried out in frustration, frantically looking each and every way he could in an attempt to find his brother, seeing nothing but the dull bark of trees, and the brilliant blanket of snow. He pulled out his cell, knowing now he needed help, and placed a call to a number that was permanently etched into his heart, relief flooding through him when reassurances of being there soon echoed down the line. Placing the cell back into his pocket, he tried to calm his breathing to silence all thoughts, to concentrate on his surroundings in an attempt to hear anything out of the ordinary, but again that eerie silence filled the air with a chill worse than any storm Dean had ever felt. His frustration began to mount as the search seemed doomed, a thought though pricked the tip of his mind, his cell! Sam had his cell on him, all he had to do was call and follow the ring. He berated himself for being so stupid to have not thought of it sooner, as he dialed the number with trembling digits and the familiar tone sounded out clear and precise, coming from a spot to his left. Trudging through the drifts he followed the noise, his heart breaking as he traversed a fallen tree and caught his first sight of his brother, all his own aches and pains vanishing at what he beheld.

Propped lackadaisically at the foot of a mighty oak, Sam looked for all intent and purposes, dead. His head rested heavily on his drawn up knee, his arms limply hung to his sides, resting in a mix of blood and melted snow. Even from this distance Dean could see the unhealthy pallor of his brother's skin, underneath the bangs that lay plastered to his head, icicles glistening off the brown locks in the last of the days light. He lurched and stumbled his way through the snowdrifts, fervently hoping, praying that he wasn't too late. The nearer he got the more despondent he became as the other side of Sam's face came into sight and he spotted the blood sluggishly dripping from his siblings features to join the congregation already gathered on the ground, and the gash renting it's way across his temple could be made out. He dropped to his knees, feeling the chill bite into his skin immediately, and tried to rouse his seriously injured sibling, his immediate concern getting him off of the bitter cold floor; yet nothing he seemed to say could provoke a reaction from the younger man. Tilting Sam's head carefully back, he began calling his brother's name, and to tap on his brother's cheek, knowing from experience that it annoyed the hell out of him, the action garnering the reaction he had expected as Sam tried feverishly to escape from the unwanted touch, pain registering on his face as he attempted to open his eyes.

Dean could only watch as Sam's confused mind perceived danger, and he began to flail weakly at his arm in an attempt to get away, making it less than five feet before crashing harshly into the trunk of yet another tree, an odd keening sound escaping his mouth, sounding extra loud in the otherwise quiet surroundings; the sound intensifying the fears in the older brother. He crawled forward again, eager to bring any kind of comfort to Sam, only to feel sadness as he watched Sam retreat inside himself, almost as if welcoming death. Stopping his tapping of Sam's cheek, he began to run his fingers through his siblings hair an action that always comforted him in the past, thanking a God he wasn't sure he believed in as Sam's hand eventually began to stretch out, the digits finding his jacket, the calloused tips brushing across the well worn leather, before recognition registered and he suddenly found his arms full with a six foot four sobbing mess; his brother's weary head wilting against his chest, his body giving up.

Dean desperately attempted to wake his sibling again, wanting to assess the extent of his injuries, needing to know if he could make it out of there under his own steam, or if they needed to wait for Bobby's help; the reaction he received shaking him to his very core, as Sam began to fight and push his arms away, and mumbled words he couldn't hear. He cringed as Sam bucked from pain beside him, became concerned as he spoke again, the words audible, yet confusing only making sense when he asked his brother to repeat them. His brother thought something supernatural was out there, and was beginning to work himself into a frenzy at the thought of Dean getting hurt. Biting down his anger at his siblings lack of concern for himself, he spoke words he hoped would bring comfort to him. Once settled Dean inquired as to Sam's ability to walk out of there, pride and concern battling each other as the usual response of "I'm okay" fell from his brothers lips and a shaky arm was held out for a boost up. Placing the ratty blanket around his brothers shoulders, he steadied an undulating Sam as the sudden change in altitude unbalanced him, before beginning the trek back towards the road and Bobby, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as Sam inquired as to the well being of the beast.

Within minutes Dean realized the enormity of the task ahead as Sam's weakening by the second body began to lean all the more heavily against his side making the walk back through the drifts all the more harder, each step fraught with danger as the whiteness hid from sight the uneven ground beneath; both men tripping frequently as their feet became entangled in the undergrowth, Dean beginning to think it would be better to wait for Bobby before continuing, but loathe to lower his brother back down to the frozen terrain. As the rain began to turn to snow again, cutting visibility down to mere feet, Dean's heart sank. He knew to stay out here would result in disaster, but with poor visibility the chances of them getting lost, of missing Bobby completely rose exponentially. With a heavy heart he made the decision to stop, to try and wait out the storm, to share each others heat until the conditions improves. Halting Sam, he told his sibling of his plan, not surprised when his brother disapproved, willing Dean to continue on with out him, to leave him there and get help, but as stubborn as Sam was, at times Dean was worse, pulling his reluctant sibling down he placed his arms around him hoping to offer as much warmth as he could spare and prepared to wait it out. He must have fallen asleep, tired from the accident and the trekking, because he forced open frozen eyelashes to the sight better than any supermodel he had ever seen, Bobby's concerned grizzled features, and the older man's raspy voice sounding out.

"C'mon son lets get you out of here."

Dean went to oblige only to stop as remembrance struck like a well hit home run. Sam. "Take Sam first." He whispered out.

"He's already on his way." Bobby replied, his concern mounting, if Dean hadn't realized Sam was gone things truly were bad. "I took him first, he's in the truck. C'mon lets get ya back to him."

The rest of the journey back to Bobby's flittered in and out of his memory, warmth, pain, motion, nausea, the feel of Sam's cold frame resting against him. As they pulled to a stop though, all hurt, confusion and agony vanished to be replaced by renewed vigor and an unquenchable need to make sure Sam was okay, that his brothers needs were met. He relented control when Bobby insisted that he carry Sam inside, knowing that he wasn't strong enough to do so, but when it came to fixing his brothers injuries nothing the older hunter could say, or do, would sway Dean from the task of fixing them. With a strength pulled from deep within Dean shouldered the burden; cleaning wounds with holy water and peroxide; stitching tears, wincing with every pull through of the thread; setting broken fingers, splinting them after doing so; strapping his brother's damaged ankle; washing away the blood, sweat and grime that covered his face and body; setting up stolen I V's of warmed up fluids in an attempt to bring Sam's core temperature up, bundling his brother up in a mound of blankets, replacing them each and every time they were restlessly thrown off a body that radiated heat, yet shook with an intensity that rattled the bed frame.

By the time the dawn's early light blossomed over the hunks of rusted, battered metal columns that littered Singer Salvage's yard, Dean's last reserves were all but diminished, his eyes barely able to remain open, but still he refused to give in to the rest his body craved, a need to be sure Sam was recovering refusing to allow him to sleep. He argued, fought and battled any attempt Bobby made at reassuring him Sam would be fine, needing to hear Sam's voice, or at least see his eyes twitch open, to ease the worries that consumed him. As they fought again though, a soft voice could be heard, a voice that muttered for them to stop, that muttered for Dean to rest, that muttered that everything was fine, and to Bobby's relief Dean relented, climbing into his own bed and resting peacefully, secure in the knowledge that his brother was recovering.

**The End.**

**A.N. . . . . . Well we've arrived at the end, how was it? Did I miss anything out? For what started out as a rough piece of drabble, I'm amazed at how this one turned out, and the response it has garnered. I'd like to take one last opportunity to thank each and everyone of you who has read this, reviewed, or added to fav's, you guys are the best. Will be back soon with new work, catch you later, Peanut x**


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